


Chilly Night Hunts

by amandateaches



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autumn, Campfires, Dean being all cute and humorous, F/M, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, fall fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 05:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandateaches/pseuds/amandateaches
Summary: Freezing your butt off on a hunt in the middle of a cold, fall night, Dean finds a very fiery way to keep you warm.





	Chilly Night Hunts

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for @because-imma-lady-assface for my Fall Drabbles. Her request was “Chilly night around a bonfire with Dean ;)”. I may have gotten carried away and written this slightly-longer-than-a-drabble fic in one night, but I’m not sorry. It was also written using two bingo prompts: Flannel for @spngenrebingo and Free Space for @spnfluffbingo2019

The crisp, fall wind blew past you, sending leaves cascading around your hair and a chill running up your spine. You shivered involuntarily and drew your flimsily-thin sweater tighter around your chest, but it did little to guard against the chill. “What crazy person’s brilliant idea was it to schedule a hunt in the middle of a stupid Fall night?” you muttered under your breath, knowing full well the driving force behind the idea had been you and only you.

Dean turned at the sound of your voice, picking up only the barest of a whisper carried to him by the wind. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled, your now-chattering teeth doing little to conceal your discomfort from him. “You see anything yet?”

He shook his head, giving you an irrational urge to kick him just for the hell of it. “You sure we got the right place, Y/N/N? I don’t see any signs of a werewolf pack.”

You frowned, growing more and more miserable by the second. “I’m not sure of anything right now except that I should’ve stayed back at the stupid motel with stupid Sam.” Dean raised his eyebrow at that cutting remark, stopping in his tracks and turning back towards you. “Sorry,” you apologized, fitting your arms into the crooks of your elbows in search of warmth. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, I’m just really, really cold.”

“You are?” Dean wondered offhandedly. “Really? I don’t think it’s that bad. Maybe a little chilly, but…”

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say, Mr. 12 layers of flannel,” you snapped again, your shivering returning full force. “Some of us aren’t unnaturally giant space heaters.”

Dean’s face softened, his eyes traveling up and down your body to take in your pitiful state in mere seconds. “Okay, that’s it.” He held up his hands to form a make-shift T. “Hunt time-out. We’re getting you warm.”

Your eyes widened as they met his. “Dean, we’re in the middle of nowhere and it’s like 30 freaking degrees outside. How could I possibly get warm?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he stepped closer to you. “Okay, first of all, Little Miss Dramatic, it’s barely 45, and, second of all,” he muttered, shrugging off his outer layer of flannel and wrapping it around your shoulders, “take this.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but instantly closed it as a cloud of flannel-coated warmth surrounded you. You closed your eyes, sinking into it with a happy sigh as Dean pulled it tighter around you. “Mmm…warm….”

Dean chuckled while he quietly snapped the buttons closed, adjusting the flannel slightly until it covered you completely. “Better?” he whispered.

You nodded slightly. “Much.” Finally opening your eyes, you were surprised by how close he’d gotten, his face just inches from yours, making you tilt your head back to meet his gaze. “Thank you,” you responded, your breathless whisper matching his. “But, what do we do now? Keep looking or head back to the car?”

Despite how cold you were, even with the thick flannel wrapped around you, you said a subconscious prayer that he’d pick keep looking, if only so you’d get a chance to stare into his eyes in the soft fall moonlight for just a little bit longer.

He smiled and shook his head. “Neither.” He placed his hands on your shoulders and guided you over to a nearby log, gently pushing you down until you were sitting. “Sit here. I’ve got a better idea.”

Without so much as another word, Dean disappeared into the woods, leaving you alone and very, very confused. You looked after him for a moment, wondering what he was up to, before you decided to huddle deeper inside of his flannel and just wait.

Almost reflexively, you breathed in his scent, wrapping the flannel around your neck and bringing it up to your nose. The warm smell of gunpowder, leather, and whiskey enveloped you, and you smiled, the smell, so instinctively Dean, bringing you an instant sense of peace. Before you could begin to question that reaction, Dean returned, an armload of wood in his hands.

“Dean?” you questioned, but he just smiled, using the soles of his boots to clear a small little circle in front of you. He placed the armload of wood down, holding a finger up to his mouth with a grin to stop your questions before they could start. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

He quickly turned and disappeared into the woods, and, three armloads of wood later, he squatted down beside you, pulling his trusty lighter out of his back pocket. With a dramatic flourish, he lit it and threw it onto the triangle-shaped woodpile, watching as it instantly caught fire. “Voila! Bonfire!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, so one, that’s a waste of a perfectly good lighter.” You caught Dean’s grin before continuing. “Two, how the hell did you get it to light so fast?”

Dean chuckled and moved to stand beside you, plopping down next to you on the log with a laugh. “A good boy scout never shares his secrets.”

You laughed out loud and shook your head even harder. “You were never a boy scout, you liar.”

“Okay, okay,” he acquiesced, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll tell you, but you’ve gotta promise never to reveal my secrets.”

“Pretend scout’s honor,” you promised, drawing another throaty laugh from him. God, how you loved that laugh. It made your heart skip a beat just hearing it.

He turned towards you and leaned in close, whispering in your ear despite the emptiness of the forest around you, his breath tickling your neck. “The secret is a liberal helping of dried leaves and just a little bit of this,” he revealed, holding up a flask.

“Ha, you jerk!” you exclaimed, pushing him away with a laugh. “I thought you had some crazy ingenious method. You just used whiskey?!”

“Hey, it’s the good stuff,” he chuckled. “80-proof.”

You looked at the roaring fire for a second. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Dean grinned, slow and easy, leaning back on his hands. “Come on, Y/N/N, I’m a professional.”

“Yeah, a professional jackass,” you shot back with a laugh. Leaning back into him, you smiled as he settled his arm around your shoulder, drawing you close until your head was tucked under his and you were surrounded by warmth on all sides. “Hey, Dean? Thanks for giving up your whiskey to keep me warm.”

You could feel him smile against your hair, his stubble scratching you gently. “Anytime, Sunshine. Can’t have you freezing to death on me out here, now can we?”

“No we can’t,” you mumbled happily, burrowing just a little deeper into him so you were covered completely by his unrelenting, flannel-shrouded warmth. You closed your eyes and sighed softly. “Warm is good.”

With your eyes closed, you missed the way Dean’s eyes flicked down to your still form and the way his breath hitched as you snuggled closer to him, his stare filled with wanting. “Yeah,” he muttered, mesmerized by the way the light of the fire tinted your hair with fiery golden streaks. “Warm is good. Very, very good.”


End file.
